Hibernation

What an unusually extraordinary time we've been living through the past year!  I retired from the University of Central Florida the end of February of last year, after 30 years on the music faculty, and returned to Chicago.  Four days later, I attended my new division ACDA conference in Milwaukee and the next week... everything shut down.  My plans for reconnecting with friends and colleagues, attending concerts at Ravinia, Grant Park and the Chicago Symphony, traveling to teach, perform and adjudicate were all canceled. And still, this spring.  The rhythm of retirement from academic life has yet to settle in and the activity of composing has also taken on it's own, somewhat unpredictable, rhythmic contour.   

It's been a very long time since we've experienced music together, as creators, performers and listeners.  And, although teachers have found new ways to re-imagine what it is we do and how to do it in meaningful ways, it's not the same.  Because of the pandemic, masking and the 6-foot rule, we've been sequestered, secluded and isolated.  But I actually like the term cloistered, meaning "kept away from the outside world" or "sheltered". And, in a very real way, we've all been hibernating -- a state of minimal activity to conserve energy to survive adverse conditions. With the coming of a new spring (though there's snow again in Chicago today) there is a hopefulness that we'll begin to emerge soon from our hibernation to a sense of normality, a new appreciation for each other, and the music in our lives.